#domanic

His name was Domanic. He was a pickpocket and a thief. The best in the whole city; a silent hand in deep pockets, a quiet hero on dark nights. He was a modern-day Robin Hood, but they called him the Sparrow.

They called him a petty criminal, a good for nothing with a knack for taking what wasn’t his. But Domanic was smarter than anyone could have guessed. I met him at a Gala. They told me that the Sparrow was a man with a scowl that threatened violence. What they didn’t seem to know, was that Domanic wore a smile. If not for the signature tattoo at his wrist I might have mistaken him for a common thief.

I caught him with a hand in the pocket of a good man. Mr. Tathern had a young son and pockets that grew shallower with the arrival of each new villain. But I had heard the stories – that the Sparrow, like Robin Hood, helped those in need. So instead of warning Mr. Tathern, I asked Domanic to dance.

I was the Daughter of Gotham, to refuse me would be folly. So, he took my hand. We danced and we parted ways.

I didn’t see Domanic again until the following month. Another Gala for another rich socialite. His words were sharp and his fingers quick but again I caught him in good company. His target, a kind woman, had made her fortune through good deeds and work well done.

So again, I asked him to dance and again he could not refuse. He took my hand, we danced, and he asked me who I was. I told him I was born rich, hadn’t worked a day and that I wanted to be good. He argued that that wasn’t an answer. He told me his name was Domanic and I told him mine. We danced some more and then we parted ways.

We met again at the City Gala, thrown by the mayor herself. I hadn’t wondered ‘till that moment, how he ended up in such decadent parties. A thief among the rich – though I suppose he was only a thief among thieves. But the skills of the Sparrow were legend, so I let him be until he approached a good family.

I asked him to dance, he could not refuse. He took my hand and we danced.

“That man,” I told him while we waltzed, “Hits his son.”

He was silent, we danced some more and then we parted ways.

For months we went about the same routine. He would pick his way through the cities deepest pockets and when he strayed too far, I would ask him to dance. He could never refuse, so he would take my hand, we’d danced, and I would point him in the right direction.

He became infamous, a faceless man with no name except Sparrow. It didn’t take long for my father to take the case. But Batman never got close to the truth. I stalled the investigation and drove a stake through the heart of our relationship. So, the first Robin entered the picture – a petty excuse to weaponize another child.

When the next Gala came – despite my begging to go – my father was too busy with his new partner in crime. The following month it was our turn to host a Gala. This time Domanic found me. He didn’t ask where I’d been, only waited until I asked him to dance.

To refuse me would be folly. So, he took my hand. We danced and before we parted ways, he handed me an envelope.

“That man,” He told me, pointing across the room. “Weaponizes his daughter.”

I had not wondered what he might have seen while I had watched him dip silent hands into rich wallets. I had not worried what he might have recognized about me when I had been so busy with who he was. But the fact that Domanic knew who I was didn’t matter. Not then.

The envelope held only a plane ticket to a foreign city I could not pronounce the name of. There was no note, no reassurance that he was coming with me. Only the fact that he was right. I was a weapon by design. So, I filed my case and left.

I didn’t have to watch my father ruin Robin like he ruined me. I made it to the other side of the world and Domanic was there waiting. He was a good guy, a modern-day Robin Hood so when he asked for my help, I gave it to him. His father had been an addict, had sold his sister to pay off debts.

It was a hard year. We laughed, we cried, we loved, we fought, he died.

Domanic was a pickpocket and a thief. The best in the city, but he wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a weapon. We found his sister in an off-shore no-name holding facility. He was the best in the city, but he didn’t make it past the door.

His sister’s name was Melisa. I rescued her from an illegal meta-human experiment. She didn’t know her own name or Domanic’s. It took months to get her talking but when she did, I asked her; What do you want to be?

“A silent hand in deep pockets,” She told me. “A quiet hero on dark nights.”

I told her that what she described was a modern-day Robin Hood. We found our way to the top; she was a survivor and I was a warrior. We became the best in the country. They named us after a thief, he was the best in his city. They named us the Sparrows.

I can still hear his last breath when I close my eyes.

“I’m glad I asked you to dance,” I told him.

“Who else would you have asked?”

We laughed, we cried, we loved, we fought, he died.